


Please Explain When the Point is Moot

by raven_aorla



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Marshmallow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Walter VI's loss was Hatchworth's gain, and neither of them is good at forgetting it. Ficlet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Explain When the Point is Moot

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters.

Peter VI was in one of his moods where even he admitted to himself that working on anything volatile would be a really bad idea, so he was taking a sanity break reading a volume of Atomic Robo while curled against Marshmallow’s fluffy side. It distantly occurred to him that he perhaps should let a member of the staff dust his room like they kept asking permission to do, since Marshmallow was getting indigestion from eating the Critters of Unusual Size that were setting up homes and possibly independent civilizations in various nooks of his attic room. Eh. Later. He wondered how much of this fictional depiction of Nikola Tesla was accurate. Maybe he could ask one of the bots whether Peter I had invited him over ever. 

A knock sounded on the door frame. “There aren’t any booby-traps at the moment; feel free to come in,” Peter VI called.

The characteristic heavy tread of one of the automatons was accompanied by Hatchworth’s distinct speaking pattern. “Mister Peter VI, I’ve brought you some lasagna. Wanda said it was very good.”

Peter adjusted his mask and carefully sat up to avoid agitating the cat. “It’s not dinner time already, is it?”

“It’s eleven at night, sir.”

“Oh. Uh, I’m not really hungry, but…”

“I made it. According to what your mother said was your preferred recipe.” The proffered dish even had a little giraffe carved out of a carrot as a garnish. And a napkin folded like a crane.

This again. Peter wasn’t in the mood to argue the point. “Thank you. I’ll…I’ll put everything in some kind of sink when I’m done. You can go do other things.”

“I don’t have anything I need to be doing. I can wait until you’re finished. Sir.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir’.”

“I know, sir.”

Sometimes Peter wished he could still pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay. I…feel awkward when people watch me eat.”

“Should I feel bad about what happened?”

It took Peter a moment to realize what Hatchworth meant. “No, of course not. It was an accident and at least something good came out of it.”

“Then, if you don’t mind my saying so, you shouldn’t either. Also I wrote a new song called ‘Please Explain’ and I would like to sing it to you.”

Peter felt himself smile though no one else could tell. “Yeah, sure. Marshmallow, this is my lasagna, you are not Garfield.”

“I brought hand sanitizer too so you don’t have to find somewhere to wash your hands.”

It really was quite good. And how for dessert Hatchworth had managed to make a single eclair with a very strong resemblance to a bear was a mystery even to a young genius.


End file.
